Sherlock Bed Now
by daysofstorm
Summary: Just another episode in the strange (love)life of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. (Written in the "Eye of the Beholder" verse, but can be read as a standalone)


"Sherlock. Bed. Now." John came barging into the sitting room, threw off his jacket, turning around himself once, looking for Sherlock, who didn't lie on the couch as John had expected. Instead he sat at the kitchen table, staring at him from across the table.

"John?"

"I said bed." John started unbuttoning his shirt as Sherlock's eyes widened.

"John!" Demanding now. Had he missed something?

"Sherlock, stand up and move your delectable arse into the bedroom. Now. NOW!"

Sherlock automatically stood up, fast enough to tip over the chair and upset the experiment which spilled onto the table.

John kicked off his shoes and started to work on his jeans while he watched Sherlock slowly comprehending that John was simply horny and would take him right there if he didn't move to the bedroom immediately. He could tell when Sherlock came to the part where being taken in the kitchen was an actual option, as he smirked and quickly eyed his surroundings. But when his eyes fell on the gooey liquid which was slowly dripping to the floor now, he changed his mind and walked towards John, coming to stand in front of him, narrowing his eyes as he stared at his face.

"You actually called in sick," he stated, making John growl at him.

"Bed. Naked. Now. I'm not saying it again!"

Sherlock opened his mouth, probably to argue that John had said little else since he had come running through the door, but when he saw how charged John was, he simply turned around and walked towards the bedroom.

John was naked when he walked in after him; naked and very hard. His chest was flushed and his hands restless and Sherlock finally started undressing himself as fast as he could manage. John, however, being unusually impatient at that point, waited only until he had stepped out of his trousers and shorts, but hadn't quite unbuttoned his shirt until he forcefully tackled him and manhandled him onto the bed.

For a few seconds, Sherlock simply stared at him, but then John's hand sneaked down between his legs, he learned very quickly that a very horny John Watson will scratch and pinch and bite harder than usual in anticipation of release; which Sherlock promised himself would not come too soon.

With a grin he rolled John over and trapped his wrists. "Hold the horses," he said, inhaling deeply. "Why are you so ... well ... like that?" he asked, and blushed, knowing that John would mock him for evading the dirty talk.

John tried to free himself, arching up while he wrapped his legs around Sherlock, achieving the opposite.

"Let go."

"I want to know!"

"Deduce it, for fuck's sake, and let me get off."

"Negative on all accounts."

"Fuck you!"

"Not quite. Yet." Sherlock grinned and leaned down to suck at a patch of skin below John's ear. John almost came just from that.

"You must have been ... distressed for a while," Sherlock finally gave in, knowing that if he didn't do anything at all, he wouldn't be able to hold John down.

"Since I left for work."

Sherlock frowned as he tried to remember if anything in particular had happened when John had left for work a few hours ago. He couldn't.

John inhaled deeply and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to calm himself; but that only resulted in him remembering exactly why he was in the state he was in now.

"I was asleep when you left," Sherlock wasn't quite sure he liked where this was going. If he had been asleep, then he couldn't have been the reason.

"Yes, yes you were." John's breathing got faster.

"I don't understand." Sherlock carefully lessened the force with which he held John's wrists and John made use of his chance and rolled them over, pressing his hips against Sherlock with a grunt. "Oh God. Yes."

"John?"

John laughed and then leaned down to kiss him, all teeth and tongue and bruising intensity. Sherlock wondered for a moment whether John was trying to distract him from the fact that he fancied someone else and his body grew slack in horror. John stopped kissing him, sensing that Sherlock had just fallen out of rhythm with him. When he saw his face he finally calmed down a bit; and even though he knew it was for all the wrong reasons, he was thankful for the distraction.

"What are you thinking?"

Sherlock pressed his lips together and stayed silent, his eyes looking for a hint of betrayal in John's eyes.

"Oh Sherlock." John kissed those sealed lips and then his yaw, moving down slowly until he could tuck his face underneath his chin. "It was you, Sherlock." He could feel the tension slowly leave Sherlock's body. "You were asleep. On top of the duvet. Naked." His hand came down and slowly started stroking Sherlock back into hardness. "Your hand. God, you were touching yourself in your sleep and I was already running late for work."

Sherlock inhaled and his breath hitched when John flicked his thumb over his head; he was rapidly growing hard now. "I couldn't stop thinking about it. I barely managed to get to work on time and then there was almost nothing to do and I couldn't believe that I had left you like this for a handful of hung-over teenagers who thought they had some serious condition because of their headache." John pulled up his hand and licked it, making Sherlock swallow. "There. That's the story."

Sherlock moved his hips down again, bringing their erections together. "Thank you."

"I could have sworn you were doing it on purpose. How can you not remember?"

"I was probably cold," Sherlock argued, making John giggle.

"You're driving me insane. I don't think I have ever been this hard for so long."

"Want me to help you or are you going to help yourself?" Sherlock smirked, but underneath than cockiness John could see the relief; both for the fact that he was the sole reason for John's state and for the fact that John hadn't taken the piss when he had shown his insecurity.

"I love you."

"Answer my question," Sherlock grabbed two handfuls of arse and John melted against him.

"Help me," he whispered, starting to rut against Sherlock, unable to keep still any longer. "You were so gorgeous. You're a fucking miracle, you know that?"

"I'm flattered, I think. And I appreciate the ambiguity of that sentence."

John giggled and started groping his way towards the night drawer, finally producing a condom.

"Go on," he pushed down again, inviting Sherlock's hands to slip between his cheeks. Sherlock's eyes grew wide. "What did you do?"

"I couldn't wait."

"When? Where?"

"Bathroom, just before I left."

"Why didn't you ... you know ... ?

"Not without you. Never without you." He opened the condom and rolled it on Sherlock with a practiced move.

"That's a lie."

"Yes it is. But not now. Not like this. I could never just do it when I need you like this!"

Sherlock blushed deeply, but managed to redirect John's attention when he pushed two fingers into him, finding him almost relaxed. "Go on!"

Sherlock rolled him on the side and came to lie behind him. As he spooned him he lifted John's left leg and pushed it over his own, carefully edging closer until he was inside of him.

"Yes, oh, yes." John pushed back and immediately started a rhythm, which Sherlock adopted, whether he wanted to or not. Then John grabbed his hand and put it on his cock, encouraging him with little grunts. "Next time I swear I will wake you up. I can't do this again for half a day." His fingers dug into Sherlock's hips, his breath coming out in shot gasps. "And I won't care ... how late ... oh God ... how late you get into ... oh ohh ... into bed. I will wake ... I will wake you up."

"I never said you couldn't," Sherlock pointed out, scraping his teeth along the skin on John's right shoulder.

"You need sleep."

"And you need this."

"By God, I do."

"You could have called me."

"And risk being fired for misconduct?"

"You could have been quiet."

"Fuck, Sherlock. I couldn't. I really couldn't."

"I'm glad it's me."

John stopped for a moment before he started to move faster, drawing a groan from Sherlock.

"It's always you!"

Sherlock pushed harder and stroked faster and John stopped talking and simply tried to breathe.

For a week or so, neither of them spoke of the incident; but one morning, John came back into the bedroom to kiss Sherlock good bye, having woken up a bit too late after a long night working on a case and Sherlock had palmed him through his jeans.

John didn't really have a choice other than to quickly work out how to be very quiet when making a phone call whilst in the loo.


End file.
